Death Battle Part Three
by Jus Sum Dude
Summary: Takes place after Goku VS Superman 2. Goku is dead. Superman has taken the last Dragon Ball in order to prevent his resurrection. What will Vegeta do about it?
1. Condolences

He floated, weightless, under a clear blue sky. Seagulls and sand whipped around him, gently propelled by the softest of breezes. In his arms was a bundle, wrapped in a deep red cape.

Vegeta had rallied the others, gathering everyone from Piccolo to Yamcha at Master Roshi's house, and told them all to be ready for the fight of their lives. Or, more likely, their deaths. From Kami's Lookout the Z-fighters had seen the battle between Goku and Superman. They had seen how massively, impossibly outmatched he had been. They had stared, transfixed with shock, as the Man of Steel had walked, nay _strolled_ , through the Saiyan's strongest attack. They had watched, with horror and dread, as twin bolts of fire bore through his skull, and they'd all known what had happened. Their comrade, their idol, their friend had been killed. And his killer was right here, floating above their heads, the body of his victim in his hands.

Vegeta looked up at the man in the sky, his hands clenched into fists and his whole body shaking. With the sun to his back, Superman cast a shadow on the entire island. His face cloaked in darkness, Vegeta couldn't help but feel something he hadn't felt since he had been a child looking up at the strong and mighty face of his father in the royal court of Vegeta.

Smallness.

Here was a being so absurdly powerful, Vegeta could train for a thousand lifetimes and never even come close to such a level. How was that fair? How was that reasonable? Was the universe really so devoid of logic that something like that could exist?

Slowly, as if trying not to startle them, the Kryptonian came down from the heavens. Despite the intention it had the opposite effect on the Prince of all Saiyans. He could feel himself tense up with every inch of Superman's descent. Sweat broke out from his brow, and Vegeta was secretly glad that at least the sweat on Krillen and Piccolo's head was far more noticeable than his.

It was Chi Chi who made the first approach. She walked out, quivering in rage at the audacity of this man who dared to deliver the body of the husband he had murdered. Fearlessly she walked right up to Superman and raised her right hand. Seeing it coming, Clark turned his head with the blow, not wanting the woman to break every bone in her hand on his indestructible face.

SMACK!

The impact of her open palm on his left cheek left them all in shock. The Z-fighters, whom Chi Chi and Clark wholly ignored, looked on with a mix of awe and terror. Chi Chi glared at Superman, expecting hate and anger, but instead of the same red glow which had taken the life of her beloved, all she saw were baby blues. While her eyes were burdened with wrath, as fierce as the dragon's flame, his bore the burden of grief, born of those two great banes of life: tragedy and time. For the briefest of moments there was an understanding between these two, widow and alien, as the latter passed the body of Son Goku to the former.

This moment was shattered when Vegeta charged at the Saiyan-killer, screaming a battle-cry at the top of his lungs, his pride demanding he not allow this human woman to stand against the Kyrptonian alone. He had scarcely left the ground however, when Chi Chi shouted out.

"Stop!"

Something about her voice, strangled with tears, stopped the Prince dead in his tracks. He stared at the woman in disbelief. Didn't she want vengeance for her husband?

"Stop," continued Chi Chi, "There's been enough fighting. Just stop."

She grasped her husband's dead form, still wrapped in the Kryptonian's makeshift funeral shroud, and knelt down crying. Holding her love in her arms, she somehow knew that this was the end of Son Goku. There would be no Dragon Balls to revive him this time; Superman wouldn't allow it.


	2. Farewells

What is it about graveyards that make them so beautiful? Why do people care so much to protect what is, for all intents and purposes, a glorified hole in the ground? Why do we pour so much money, time, and love into them? The care we take in selecting the perfect headstone, the gentleness with which the coffin is laid to rest, the pristine green grass and bright flowers, kept in immaculate condition by daily toil. Why do all this for the dead, for people who can no longer show us gratitude for all we do? Perhaps we do all this, labor for so long and so hard, in order to show the dead the kind of love we failed to show them in life. Maybe because, no matter what we do or what we could ever do, nothing could express how much we loved them, how much we still love them, or even how much we have grown to love them more now that they are no longer with us.

Clark Kent laid yet another flower on the grave of Lois Lane. Earlier, in Japan, he had laid a similar one on the grave of Son Goku. The yellow daffodil almost shined in the light of the slowly brightening sky as the sun began her ascent through the sky. The flower was an odd choice for a deceased love, but Clark knew Lois would've appreciated the variety, as Son Goku would've welcomed its symbolism. As the first rays of dawn fell upon his face, no amount of focus could force out the influence of his powers. Clark preferred to visit the grave when it was nighttime. It was easier for him to ignore his super-senses then. It had been generations since her death, and in these precious few moments he could spare with her he preferred isolation. Even if it was just for a few minutes, he wanted to be away from it all, he wanted a few minutes where he didn't have to hear someone cry for help or scream in terror. Some would've reprimanded him, saying it was irresponsible of him to shut out the world, even for a moment. Others, like Lois, understood. They understood that, no matter how super his powers were, the person wielding them was still just a man.

Of course, it didn't matter anymore. Lois was gone. As were those others who had understood. As well as the world that had understood him.

In the years since the old days, so much had changed. Capsule Corp had replaced Lex Corp, Mr. Satan had become the world-famous playboy that Bruce Wayne once was, and Son Goku and his compatriots had become the new protectors of Earth. Today's people were so different now. Despite all the, literally, Earth-shattering events of the past few years, they refused to adapt or change, or let it affect them in the slightest. Perhaps the people of this world had all become dumber? Or perhaps they simply didn't care.

.

.

.

It was Gohan who had discovered the location. Buried deep in his books, he had found mention of the Kryptonian stronghold, a place the people of the time had referred to as his "Fortress of Solitude." No amount of scans from Capsule Corp Satellites could locate the place, and any digital records had been erased ages ago, the last acts of heroes from a past era.

He had been up for hours, burying himself in documents that were older than him. He had worked himself to exhaustion, an impressive feat given his own Saiyan biology. It was for this reason that he didn't sense what Vegeta was about to do. The next thing Gohan knew, Vegeta had struck him right on the neck, knocking him unconscious. Gohan was a good kid and a brilliant fighter, but Vegeta knew that he'd want to accompany him. He couldn't allow that. If anyone asked he would've told them that he wanted to face the Kryptonian alone. He wanted to battle the Earth's greatest hero so he could prove his own worth and strength. But truthfully, that wasn't why he'd done it. He knew that Gohan would never be able to control himself around his father's killer. This fight may very well prove to be his last, and, though he'd take the secret to the grave, he didn't want to drag a child to his own death.

It was late at night. Gohan's head fell with a heavy "thunk" sound on the desk, his eyes closed and, hopefully, dreaming of Videl. Vegeta left the Capsule Corps library where Gohan had been working nonstop for nearly a week. He walked to the rooms of his son, daughter, and wife, kissing each forehead as he went. He could count all the people he cared about in existence on one hand, but these people, this tiny family of his, this _was_ his existence.

For a brief moment Bulma stirred as Vegeta's lips withdrew. For an equally brief moment, Vegeta hesitated. He could stop right now. He could lay down, embrace his wife, and go to sleep. He could gather everyone in the morning, and together they could assault the Kryptonian fortress.

No. Vegeta remembered what he had seen, remembered how his great rival had died. It wouldn't be an assault. It would be a slaughter. But this way it would be a slaughter with only one casualty. If he won, than they'd celebrate. Goku would be back and Vegeta would finally be able to definitively say he was the strongest being on the planet. But if he failed... well... he'd left his Will already, instructing everyone not to try to avenge his death. If he failed than hopefully his would be the last and only death.

With that, the Prince of all Saiyans grit his teeth, clenched his fists, and rocketed up and away towards the Arctic.

*The choice of a yellow daffodil was a deliberate one. As a tangential learning experience, see if you can determine what it means.


End file.
